


Hunting for Gods

by kmarzski



Series: Skyrim Outlanders [1]
Category: Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Arrows, College of Winterhold - Freeform, Daedric Princes, Dark Brotherhood (eventually), Gen, Reluctant Hero, knees
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-02-25
Updated: 2017-01-11
Packaged: 2018-05-23 04:02:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 4
Words: 12,933
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6104218
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kmarzski/pseuds/kmarzski
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Like Sword Art Online, but less disappointing.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. We're Not from Here

_The air is crisp and clear. A crowd beneath a tall tower. Strange faces, strange clothes, stranger people. Some stand tall and proud, though their hands are bound. The others look on with disdain. There is no empathy in their gaze._

_Six._  
_Six faces. Six sparks._  
_In them is fear, is confusion, is loss. But soldier knows no pity._

_Something stirs in the distance._

_A man is called and obeys. The black axe hangs in the air but a moment before releasing the crimson tide. There’s so much blood…_

_The crowd clamors, adding grim words to match grim faces. Another call, another man. She looks at you. Not in fear, like the other sparks. Her eyes are filled with more answers than questions. Why is she not afraid?_

_The something grows louder, more insistent. They choose to ignore its warning._

_Your feet move you toward the block, where the brave man’s blood is still wet, still running. Their hands are rough and unkind as they put you in place. The headsman and his black axe regard you coolly._

_Something stirs in the distance. A great form separates from the mountain, as though unaware something so gargantuan could not, should not possibly fly, and falls heavily on the tower._  
_“Dragon!” someone screams._  
_The air is crisp and clear, and filled with the sounds of men and swords. An impossibly great voice fills the empty space in between, and the sky answers in fire. The world is gone mad, but she is there beckoning you, calling you toward safety. If you could just─_

“Elijah!”

The vision shattered. The dreamer woke with a start, heart racing his chest, struggling to pull in enough air to stabilize himself. Again with that dream . . . he rubbed a hand across his tired face. As if living through it once wasn’t enough. His companion shifted his weight, drawing Elijah’s attention and nearly causing him to shout in surprise. Pale eyes in a gray-furred face peered back at him curiously and not without a touch of dry humor. But whatever alarm he saw in Elijah’s face, he chose to ignore.

“J’zargo was wondering whether his fellow student would ever rejoin the land of the living. How fortunate that Master Ervine saw fit to call you from bad dreams.” The cat rose to his full height and made for the door. 

Elijah’s mind struggled to form coherent lines of thought as he extricated himself from the bed covers.

“Wait – did Master Ervine say why she wanted me?” J’zargo paused in the doorway, tail twitching in what Elijah supposed was irritation.

“She did not. But J’zargo recommends you make yourself presentable as quickly as you can. If not for the Master Wizard than to catch up on the excitement that transpired while you slept.” He turned to face the other mage, a shadow of a smirk over his features. “We found a great treasure under Saarthal.”


	2. Life Among the Mages

_25th of Hearthfire, 4E 201_

Once the…once J’zargo was out of sight, Elijah swung his legs over the side of the bed and stared at his new set of clothes with more than a little hesitation. He could just…stay in bed for a while. Claim the long trip through Skyrim’s hellish winter had taken its toll on his health. Let whatever new strangest wait to unnerve him another day. Elijah sighed and ran a hand through his blonde, rather shaggy hair. If he weren’t ninety-percent sure this school would call him on his bullshit with an army of healers, he might well have accepted his weaker self’s plan. As it stood, all he could do was stand and try and figure out how these goddamn robes were supposed to work. Novice Robes Destruction, Master Ervine had said. Undershirts and overshirts; breeches, belts, and straps. The fabric, soft grays and browns, was softer than he’d known previously, but…still very odd. Power thrummed through the seams like blood through veins; a power which Elijah had been told was magic. 

Fiddling with the last holdout strap, he stumbled out of his room, only to find he was not alone in the Hall of Attainment. Three other students – one male, two female – garbed similarly seemed to be waiting for him, chatting easily amongst themselves. Thankfully, all three looked to be…well, human.

“Good morning?” he said, though it came out more of a question than a greeting. “Um…I’m-”

“We know who you are,” said one of the girls, not without kindness. “J’zargo wasn’t exactly reticent in voicing his displeasure at having to wake up – how did he phrase it again?”

“‘The College’s newest freeloader,’ I believe,” supplied the boy, helpfully.

“Ah, yes. That.” She turned back to Elijah. “Though, really, he’s not one to talk. Brelyna told me that J’zargo’s only been at the college a few months longer than us. And, let’s be real, the Scholars think all the apprentices are a bunch of uneducated brats at this point. Is there any reason to split hairs over a few measly months?” Elijah hesitated on a reply, unsure whether it was expected, but the girl’s pause seemed only to allow her the time to take a breath before continuing:

“I’m Kirby, by the way. That’s Daniel, and this is Holly.” Daniel nodded in acknowledgement; Holly gave a little wave, which Elijah felt obliged to return in kind.

“Master Ervine sent us to retrieve you for Lecture,” said Daniel. “She also said you would have to reschedule the College Tour for later after all of the excitement has down died.”

“Yeah, J’zargo mentioned something like that. So…what did they find under…?”

“Saarthal.”

“Under Saarthal,” Elijah finished, the foreign word feeling strange on his tongue. Kirby’s eyes sparkled with enthusiasm.

“No one knows! Tolfdir hasn’t even come back to the surface yet. He just sent Li-Mei to fetch the Archmage and sent the other students back for their own safety.”

“Li-Mei?”

“Another apprentice. Tolfdir’s favorite,” Kirby replied in clipped tones.

“She’s quite an accomplished mage, especially for a someone so young,” piped Holly. “I heard Faralda had her summon a flame atronach just to gain entry into the college!”

“That’s just a rumor,” put in Daniel. “But she has placed into three schools of magic.” “And that’s…good?” said Elijah.

“Amazing, actually. Most mages only specialize in one school. Take me, for example. I’m good at Illusion magic and not much else.”

“Me, too,” said Holly, a bit unconvincingly. 

“Destruction,” said Kirby with some relish. “What about you, newbie? Did Faralda or Master Ervine read you your rights, tell you what your proficiency is?”

“No, not really. It was pretty late when I finally got into Windhelm. Casting in the dark wasn’t really appealing at the time.” It was a miracle Faralda had let him in at all. “But Restoration and Destruction come the easiest to me.”

Daniel nodded appreciatively. “Nice. Those are useful schools. You plan on becoming a spellsword?”

“A spellsword? Uh…maybe. In the future. For now, I more just want to learn all I can about…about magic.”

“Still feels weird to say out loud, huh?” said Kirby. “Don’t worry; it gets easier the longer you normalize it.” Elijah studied them for a few seconds, contemplating.

“Are you all…?” he trailed off, uncertain whether the thought warranted finishing. Kirby smirked commiseratively.

“Yeah. Ain’t it about a bitch?”

“Yes, exactly what you just said,” Elijah sighed. He wasn’t alone here. There were others in the same predicament as himself. It was a load off the mind. Before leaving Whiterun, Elijah had made peace with the fact that he might find himself in a place without other Outlanders; the others couldn’t come, had already set up common lives around the sunny hold. A waste, really. Discovering the truth felt like a much more worthwhile pastime.

“Anyway,” continued Kirby. “We should get going. Wouldn’t want you to miss your first lessons.” 

And with that, the apprentices made for the door. It opened on a well-oiled hinge to the biting cold of Skyrim’s northern, ever-present wind. The cold nipped at Elijah’s uncovered skin and snatched at his clothing like a petulant child. Above them, the statue of a great mage watched, his implacable form obviously unaffected by either wind or chill.

“Who is that?” asked Elijah as the group walked out from under his great shadow. Holly looked up briefly, before fastening her eyes back on the snowy ground.

“That’s Shalidor, the first Arch-Mage of the College.”

“The founder of the city, too, depending on who you ask,” supplied Daniel.

“Who cares?” muttered Kirby. “He’s dead, and I’m cold as balls. Can we _please_ get a move on?” Shalidor’s disapproving stare followed them through the great doors of the Hall of Elements and into the lecture hall. 

Elijah had to remind himself not to gape as the group enter into the main room, but…he failed all the same. The door opened into a vast space of vaulted ceilings and frosted glass windows, like an ancient cathedral. Warm blue light filtered from the strange well in the center of the room upward and outward, casting few shadows and adding a strange glow to the people inside. The College’s sigil cut into his feet as the apprentices walked forward and joined their fellow students, already embroiled in a lecture from one of the scholars. 

Holly and Daniel separated and took places at the front of the class. The elf – a dark elf – cut them all a disapproving look, but otherwise did not acknowledge their presence or lateness, merely continued on with his lesson:

“…we will continue our lectures on the Doomstones and Runestones of Cyrodill tomorrow morning. The subject of today’s lecture is Skyrim’s collection of Doomstones, commonly referred to as ‘Standing Stones.’

“Now, the existence of so-called ‘Doomstones’ throughout Skyrim has been repeatedly verified. The meaning of these stones has not. The prevailing opinion of Skyrim natives is that the stones are indeed magical in nature. While there is no direct evidence of this, it does seem likely…”

_Standing stones_ Elijah mused. _Like the ones outside Riverwood?_ It seemed likely. The descriptions matched up. 

_The warrior, the mage, and the thief_ she had said, pointing at each of the pillars. _The Guardian Stones. Legend tells of the stones granting special powers to the heroes of old, giving them the ability to rewrite their fate._

_I’m not a hero,_ he had said.

_Maybe. But you will be._ Another enigmatic smile.

_Choose._

“…the age of the stones themselves has yet to be officially determined. It has been widely assumed that they were placed during the Merethic Era. Writings from that period, including those of Ysgramor himself, do not mention the stones, and thus this idea cannot be verified. Nonetheless, many are drawn to these stones based on the local stories describing them as a source of significant power. The College will continue to research these intriguing objects, and of course any findings will be relayed with all possible haste.

“That is all for the day, apprentices. You may attend to your other studies.”

The apprentices, however, did not depart just yet. A swell of murmurs swept through the group as the teacher stood, uncomfortably exposed, at the front of the mob.

“Sir,” ventured a pretty Breton apprentice. “There are rumors going around that something was found under Saarthal. A powerful magic artifact or something. Is…are they true? The rumors?”

“What exactly did Tolfdir find down there that’s kept him from giving lecture today?” added another apprentice. The students erupted in a flurry of voices, some speaking to other apprentices, some voicing their own questions and opinions toward the dark elf scholar.

“Everyone, everyone,” said the lecturer, struggling to make himself heard over the rabble. 

“Please do not base your actions on the rumors of your fellow students. Half the stories I’ve heard are either false or grossly misinterpreted, and the other half only retain the barest trace of fact. I can assure you that an official explanation for the events under Saarthal is forthcoming, but only after Arch-mage Aren has returned to the College. Please refrain from badgering both scholars and apprentices for information we simply do not have.

“In regards to Saarthal itself…the barrow is off-limits at this time to all mages whose presence is not expressly allowed by the Arch-mage. This is for your safety as well as everyone else’s. Punishment for offenders will be most severe, and could possibly result in expulsion from the College of Winterhold. Please keep this in mind before doing anything drastic. Thank you.” A whispered enchantment, and the lecturer disappeared into thin air, escaping to some distant corner of the college free from the prying eyes and questions of curious apprentices.

Reluctantly, and with much spoken resentment, the students dispersed into small groups, discussing the strange events that were happening at the College. Elijah started as Kirby grabbed his hand and dragged him off where Holly and Daniel had wandered.

“ – strange that they won’t tell us anything,” said Daniel.

“I know. It must be something huge for all this secrecy. If Drevis had just passed it off as something trivial we were blowing out of proportion then…” Holly trailed off as Kirby and Elijah joined the group.

“So? Crazy stuff, right?” Kirby put in. “What I would pay to be in Saarthal right now.”

“How about your membership in the College?” quipped Daniel, receiving a light punch to the arm for his efforts.

“Shut it. I may be crazy, but I’m not risking my education for a stupid artifact. Rumors spread like wildfire around here. The truth will come out sooner or later.”

“I’d say sooner rather than later,” commented Elijah. “If the apprentices are this riled up, the scholars must be mad with curiosity. Saarthal is so close to the College, I wonder that is wasn’t found earlier.”

“That’s a good point…” replied Daniel, lapsing into silence as the idea took root in his mind. “Very curious.”

Kirby paused a moment in consideration, seemingly brushed off the idea, and continued:

“Well, the scholars are useless, but I know one person who might tell us what’s up.”

“We shouldn’t bother her. I’m sure the other apprentices are already giving her a hard time.”

“The truth must be revealed, Holly. And if it comes at the expense of someone’s privacy, so be it!” she claimed before striding for the exit. Holly and Daniel shared a look, much like parents struggling to control the whims of their toddler, before following behind with Elijah in tow.

Thankfully, an expedition into the “refreshing” Skyrim air was unnecessary. Elijah merely had to follow his companions up a flight of stairs or two to the…well, Elijah couldn’t exactly see what lay inside as, for some reason, the group had decided to congregate just outside the doorway.

“What’s going on?” Elijah asked, only to be elbowed fiercely from somewhere in the crowd of bodies.

“Shhh!” hissed Kirby. In the silence that followed, the conversation from the room within flowed easily to the apprentices’ eager ears.

"You there. Apprentice. I have questions for you. You were in Saarthal, yes? It has come to my attention that something was found there."

“It is a distinct possibility, Advisor Ancano.”

"I know full well that you have. Please do not insult my intelligence. Tolfdir is still there now, is he? I shall expect a full report when he returns."

“Very good, sir. I’m sure my master will be more than happy to submit a report…to a Thalmor advisor of the Arch-Mage.” Her tone was acerbic, equal parts politeness and disdain, not unlike her elvish interrogator. 

“Who is that?” whispered Elijah, only to be violently shushed again. Nonplussed, he peeked around the corner for a better view. A black-robed figure with accents of gold blocked the doorway from a petite girl laden with books. Her height made her look like a child next to the tall, officious elf, but her demeanor and words proved her every inch his equal.

“If I may ask,” she continued, “what interest could you have in some trivial find in an ancient Nord ruin? Surely your ancestors could not have left behind something that important. When they sacked the city and slaughtered all who lived within.”

The elf stiffened visibly, but did not rise to the challenge.

"Something was discovered in Saarthal that was significant enough that Tolfdir sent an untested apprentice of the College, alone, to deliver word,” he voiced through gritted teeth. “That sounds precisely like the sort of thing that should matter to everyone. Especially me. That is all. You may go now."

“ _Thank you,_ sir.”

Ancano took his leave, thankfully, up the right-hand staircase, allowing the nosy apprentices to enter the room – a library – with a semblance of dignity. As though they couldn’t possibly stoop so low as to listen in hallways to tense conversations.

The girl shifted her gaze to them with narrowed eyes, but ultimately decided they weren’t worth it, and made for the exit.

“Li-Mei!” Kirby called. The girl stopped.

“Why won’t you people just leave me alone?” she snipped, every syllable with pronounced irritation. “I have nothing to say about what’s under Saarthal. Even if I did, I couldn’t talk about it. Not to a bunch of gossiping apprentices.”

Kirby sucked in a breath and did her best to put on a happy face. It looked a little painful.

“C’mon, Mei. Tolfdir wouldn’t’ve sent you back to alert Arch-Mage Aren if you were innocent in all this. We’ve heard so many rumors, it’s hard to say what really happened down there. _Did_ something happen? Are we truly safe?”

“It’s _Li_ -Mei. And I have nothing to say to you.” She disappeared up the stairs. Kirby’s face fell back into a more natural look of antipathy as she muttered a few choice obscenities under her breath. Daniel watched her progression with amusement.

“Really, what did you expect? If she wouldn’t say anything to the scary Thalmor, she certainly wouldn’t tell _us_ anything.”

“Whatever,” replied Kirby. “There are other options. Do we know if she has any good friends at the College? Maybe we can get the information through them.” Daniel snorted.

“That one? I doubt it.” Holly’s mouth quirked slightly – in humor or displeasure, Elijah couldn’t tell – but didn’t contest the statement.

“Can I help you, apprentices?” interrupted a gruff voice. The group started and turned to see a bearded orc in their midst, every inch of his body exuding annoyance at their presence. Like he would much prefer never helping anyone ever again, despite his question.

“Um…yes!” said Kirby. “Before the, uh, field trip, Tolfdir gave the apprentices a paper to complete. We were wondering whether we couldn’t, um… _respectfully_ borrow some books. Li-Mei said she was also working on the paper. So, if you could give us whatever books you gave her…”

The librarian looked at her with something like incredulity. As if to say _are you really trying to pull this shit?_ But, of course, no one in Skyrim spoke like that. Instead, he replied:

“I think you three need to get out of here. Don’t let me see your faces around my Arcaenaeum for the rest of the day, and leave that girl alone. She is none of your concern.” The apprentices nodded and made a hasty retreat. Elijah made to follow, their residual fear of this old orc rubbing off on him, when that gruff voice called out again:

“Not you.” Elijah halted. The other three shared worried looks, but a far more threatening glance from the librarian sent them packing. Their hushed voices could be heard chattering anxiously up until the door to the Hall of the Elements closed behind them with a *bang*.

“Now…,” continued the orc. “I haven’t seen you before, so I’ll give you the same speech I give all the new members: you are now in the Arcanaeum, of which I am in charge. It might as well be my own little plane of Oblivion. Disrupt my Arcanaeum, and I will have you torn apart by angry Atronachs. Now, do you require assistance? Some that doesn’t involve invading your peers’ privacy?" Elijah flushed slightly, embarrassed that their flimsy ruse had failed so easily.

“Um, yes, actually.” The orc waited. Quote-unquote _patiently._

“Uh…I’m interested in studying the different planes. My…former teacher spoke only briefly on Oblivion, Daedra, and Conjuration. In this world, that seems like a dangerous thing.” The orc considered him for a moment, and maybe it was his imagination but the overwhelming scorn seemed to lessen a little, replaced by the deliberations of a fellow scholar.

“Follow me,” the librarian ordered, stepping further into the large, well-lit room. It was a homely space, clean and saturated with the smell of parchment. “I may have some books to aid your research,” he continued, “but another student has taken a good many on the subject. If you want more than the Arcaenaeum currently can offer, I would suggest working together with him.”

“Another student? Who?” 

“Some boy. Noah, I think he was named.” The orc plucked books from the shelf as he spoke, inspecting them both for content and wear, before either replacing them or taking them onto the next shelf. “He’ll be one of the odd ones, in the end. There’s always one among the apprentices,” he murmured, almost to himself. Elijah pondered over his meaning briefly before being assaulted with the weight of a five, six tomes.

“What is your name?” the orc asked abruptly.

“E-Elijah.”

“Elijah. I don't want to see you treating any of these books poorly. Are we clear?"

“Yes, sir.”

“Good. Now get out of my Arcaenaeum.”


	3. Desperation Day

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I take back everything I ever said about AO3 authors and their update schedules. Writing is hard.

_25th of Hearthfire, 4E 201_

Books and thoughts weighed heavily on Elijah as he crossed the courtyard. There were some people – scholars and apprentices, chatting amongst themselves about intensive magical theory or the ever-present Saarthal conundrum – but no one made to approach him. In another time, perhaps the appearance of the College’s newest apprentice would be some cause for commotion. Introductions to be made, knowledge to be parlayed, alliances to be forged or fritted away. However, recent times dictated that such fixation was scarcely necessary, possibly even a waste of time. There were simply too many new mages to be accounted for. In years past, a handful of apprentices wandering into the College now and then had been a time-honored tradition, even after the disastrous storms that laid waste to the town of Winterhold. Many mages, of course, found their muse in less…traditionally acceptable forms of magic and were asked to conduct their research elsewhere, but the College could still pride itself on a small, elite group of mages dedicated to exposing the mysteries of Aetherius and beyond. Nowadays, any curious observer could attest that eleven apprentices in only three months’ time was a most peculiar turn of events. Especially when the majority of those mages were…outlandish, to say the least.

It wasn’t more than a few seconds after Elijah arrived back to his small room and, the librarian’s threats still in his ears, placed the books carefully on a closed chest, when was he descended upon by three meddlesome mages.

“Hey, you made it out. And I was so sure Urag gro-Shub had vaporized you or fed you to angry skeevers,” quipped Daniel. Elijah grinned good-naturedly and made a mental note to find out just what the hell skeevers were. 

“You don’t have to sound so disappointed,” he replied. 

“’Course he’s disappointed,” said Kirby. “He owes me five septims now.”

“Did he lend you any interesting books?” inquired Holly, her gaze shifting to the heavy tomes. They were old books, some in better condition than others, some with quite disturbing stains on them (Elijah assumed they were from the time before Urag’s tenure as College librarian).

“Nothing about Saarthal, if that’s what you’re asking,” replied Elijah, picking one up and random and thumbing through the pages. “Just some private research.”

“Private research, eh?” said Kirby, picking up the next book – _Darkest Darkness_ – in the pile. Holly looked over her shoulder as she opened it and began skimming the first page.

“Yeah, but Urag said many of the books I wanted were already being used by another student.”

“Which one?” said Daniel.

“Noah, I think.” The other apprentices shared a telling look amongst themselves. “…I take it you all know him?”

“He can be…well, people often get the wrong impression. When they first meet him.”

“Come on, Holly. You can do better than that,” encouraged Daniel. “He’s a right prick, is what he is.”

“Stop it. He just takes some warming up to, really. You two’ve only met him once or twice, right?”

“And in that small amount of time, he’s able to alienate us and anyone else who has the distinct displeasure of talking to him,” announced Kirby. She shut her book decisively and tossed it blithely back onto the pile, much to Elijah’s distress.

“Daniel’s right. He’s a total prick, but who knows? Maybe you’ll have better luck with him than us.” She shrugged unconcernedly. “Anyway, what do you want to know about the Daedra?” Elijah chewed over his words for a few moments before deciding on the path of least resistance.

“I know religion isn’t worth much where we come from…but I’ve heard some troubling things about the gods here. If they do exist and take an active interest in screwing with humans, I’d like to know as much as I can. For my own safety, if nothing else.” Daniel nodded thoughtfully, while Kirby just laughed.

“Fair point. Can’t say I’m all that interested in weird Nordic cults, but if you think their beliefs hold water have at it. I’m going to stick with learning how to blow things up.”

“You Destruction types are all alike. You know, there’s more to that field of magic than just obliterating everything standing in your path. Even a humble Illusion apprentice like myself can tell you that.”

“Daniel, I don’t need some smug sorcerer telling me what I can and cannot destroy. That would be against my constitutional rights, if this backwards-ass country had a constitution.”

“Kirby, keep your voice down,” warned Holly.

“What? Nobody cares,” the other girl replied dismissively. Raising her voice several notches, Kirby continued: “Hey, does anyone care that I think Skyrim is a shit place to live?”

“J’zargo would agree with you were your comments not so rudely interrupting his studies.”

“See? _Nobody cares_.” Holly sighed, and turned her gaze to Elijah, while Kirby and Daniel snickered like school children.

“Hey, do you want to see the Hall of Countenance, Elijah? I’m meeting another student for a study session. Maybe we could suss out where Noah is, too. If you want.”

“Uh…sure. That sounds good.”

“Laaaaame,” sounded Kirby. “Daniel and I are going to get something to eat.”

“Are we?” 

“Obviously. Later, nerds,” she called fondly as she disappeared out the door. Daniel shook his head good-humoredly and followed. Holly tucked a stray strand of hair behind her ear, her hands running over her robes as if looking for some distraction.

“Well…let’s get going. If we don’t hurry, my friend will be kept waiting.” Elijah nodded and stood to follow. 

Instead of taking the nearest door, however, Holly made for the staircase. The two wound their way up cold stone steps with a modicum of haste. Elijah was too distracted by the newness to put much effort towards speed. The next floor held another collection of apprentices rooms, mostly unfilled in the light of day, but as they travelled higher the rooms grew more opulent, reflecting the higher ranks of those that lived within. Some rooms were relatively untouched but for a few trinkets their owners had bothered to display. Others were a veritable hoard of artifacts, both magical and otherwise. One room in particular was so cluttered Elijah was hard-pressed to think of a way a mage could make it to the partially exposed bed at all. Holly made no comment on their surroundings, too absorbed in her own thoughts, until the apprentices opened the door to the outside world. 

“The rooftop grants you entry to all the Halls,” said Holly, voice raised slightly to combat the gusting winds. “But the doors are generally locked during storms or blizzards. Too many mages have been swept off, so they say.” 

The cold and wet of the snow sunk into his boots as Elijah trucked after her across the barren rooftop. He would’ve liked a chance to stay for a while, look around and explore, but the wind alone was enough to persuade him to enter the Hall of Countenance in good time. Down, down, they went through more stairs and past more bedrooms. Holly pointed out, in clipped tones, which rooms belonged to the most important college mages – the masters of their craft – but the foreign-sounding names and titles slipped from his mind easily, too trivial and too numerous to be remembered. 

Eventually, the stairs ended, opening into a great underground space. Numerous bookcases lined the walls, some clustered together like small libraries, others solitary and proud. Mages had filled them with, not books, but artifacts of a thousand different shapes and sizes: strange glowing machines, alchemy ingredients, battered mechanical spiders, soul gems the size of your head, and other things which Elijah could scarcely describe, much less understand. The very air hung thick with magicka; he could _fee_ l it, somehow, clustered around certain people and objects, giving the whole room a distinctly surreal feel. Holly grinned shyly at his expression, beckoning him further in the space. They passed rows and rows of tables: great stone workbenches that lay scattered across the room at safe distances from each other. Many had already been occupied by mages; others had the leftover bits of experiments strewn about: a copper cog here, a scorch mark there. Oddly enough, there was even a table stacked with several hundred of red and green apples, but Elijah thought better than to ask. Some things were just better left to the imagination. 

Eventually, Holly led him to a small alcove on the opposite side of the room. A dusty forgotten corner walled in on nearly all sides by bookcases and piles of discarded tools: a place where one would be hard-pressed to find the occupant unless they knew where to look. An apprentice sat in the center of the mess, surrounded by books, scrolls, and candles. He did not look up at their approach, nor even seem to notice. 

“Noah…” Holly ventured.

“What do you want?” he asked sharply.

“Urag sent us,” she continued. “One of the new apprentices is researching Daedra…but the Arcanaeum is missing a few books concerning them.” Holly waited for a reply. Noah turned a page of his book, eyes never leaving it.

“Um…do you – ”

“Yes.”

“…yes?”

“Yes, I have them.”

“Oh. Okay. Then would you mind – ” 

“What’s his name?” Noah interrupted. Elijah sucked in a breath to respond, irritation building, but Holly nudged him gently.

“This is Elijah. He arrived in Winterhold last night.”

“School?”

“Restoration.”

“Restoration,” Noah repeated. He shut his book and finally turned his dark eyes towards them. “And what could a Restoration apprentice possibly need with books on the creatures of Oblivion?” Holly nodded to Elijah.

“I…I’m just curious, really.” Noah snorted.

“Then you’re just wasting my time.” He grabbed another book from the middle of a pile. “Come back when you have something substantial to study. Or better yet, don’t. I don’t have time for liars.” Elijah bristled.

“I’m no –”

“Yes, you are. I don’t like liars in my study area. If you insist on filling the air with false words, do it somewhere else.” Noah’s head ducked back into the pages of his book, while Elijah tamped down his growing irritation. Daniel and Kirby’s words were beginning to make an unreasonable amount of sense. Holly sighed softly and sat down cross-legged in front of Noah. His eyes flicked up to her, but quickly turned back to the hastily scrawled letters on the page. 

“What are you researching today, Noah?” asked Holly, with all the patience of a saint. After a few seconds of silence, the apprentice pushed a large book towards Holly.

“ _2920, Morning Star_ . . . the wars between the Empire and Morrowind. I thought you didn’t like history.”

“I don’t. The biased records of victors are unnecessary. But Faralda recommended it.”

“Ah…” Silence lapsed between them.

“Are you alright? You look tired.”

“It’s fine.”

“…more nightmares?” Noah’s left eye twitched slightly, but other than that there was no response. Holly nodded slightly.

“I’ll come by later tonight with another draught,” she continued. “Is that okay?”

No response.

Holly sighed through her nose and made to get up, her robes rustling slightly against the cold stone floor, when Noah reached into a pile behind him and removed a well-worn book. His arm bent beneath its weight as he offered it to her, not meeting her eyes.

“For _him_ ,” he muttered. Holly smiled and took the book gently.

“Thank you, Noah.” Motioning for Elijah to follow, Holly slipped out of Noah’s hideaway and into the open air of the room, hugging the book to her chest.

“What the hell was that all about?” asked Elijah, falling into step with her.

“I know, I’m sorry. He’s quite brilliant, really, he is. He’s just…a little socially ignorant, I guess. Not good with people.”

“Obviously…but at least we got the book, right?”

“No, we got a book,” she sighed, passing him the tome. “I’m sure he’s got more stashed away somewhere. I swear he guards those things like dragons guard word walls…but I’ll try and get more out of him later. Don’t worry about it.”

“ _The Oblivion Crisis_?”

“Yeah…it’s a good read, but I think he means it more as a warning. For you. The daedra aren’t to be trifled with, even in a scholastic sense.

“The exit is that way,” she continued, pointing at a far-off door, “and that’s the entrance to the Midden.” Another point at another door. “That’s where the more dangerous or…unseemly experiments take place. I…don’t recommend going in there alone, at least, not until you’ve gotten more training. Um…I’d love to stay, but I have a prior arrangement. See you later?”

“Sure. And thanks for your help, Holly.” She smiled quickly at the praise, waved a little goodbye, and retreated towards the staircase. For a brief moment, Elijah considered exploring the dangers of the Midden. The promise of danger and “keep out” warning were tempting prospects…though, perhaps it wasn’t the best idea to go courting trouble on the first day of wizard school. Shrugging off his curiosity, Elijah fixed his gaze on the doorway upstairs, resolved to begin sifting through the information so discourteously given to him by Urag gro-Shub. The answer had to be there somewhere.

* * * 

Malachi had never cared for the cold. He sympathized much with the Khajiit, those he had spoken with, than the snow-decked barbarians called Nords. Their stories of the warm sands and gentler climate of their home stirred in him something he had thought himself incapable: homesickness. But it was just a passing phase, he was sure. As temperate as the climate was, there was nothing for him there.

From this distance, the holdfast looked calm. Idyllic. Like a scene from the painting. The gently falling snow breaking the surface of the water, the sputtering of determined torches, and the harsh tramp of the guards’ feet were the only things that could ruin the illusion. From his perch, Malachi watched the guard pass beneath him, bundled up in furs to ward off the cold and dampen the clink of weapons. Heading across the bridge toward the lumber mill. _Five…six…seven…_ , he counted. The biting cold off stone began to seep into his fingers. _Twelve…thirteen…fourteen…_ The guard stopped suddenly before the bridge and drew his sword. Malachi held his breath, body tense, adrenaline doing double-time. 

With a harsh battle cry, the guard disappeared from view, only to reappear a few seconds later with freshly-skewered Skeever.

“Nasty creatures,” Malachi heard the man mutter. “Talos preserve us from another infestation.” And he was gone, off to check that the lumber mill and its inhabitants hadn’t been carried off by bandits. Now was his chance. 

Slipping from his position beneath the bridge, Malachi stole towards the town, keeping to the shadows when he could, well away from doorways, windows, and torches. He weaved his way over the icy rocks and onto the dock behind the row of houses. The boats shifted restlessly and did wonders in covering the sound of his footsteps. From across the way, the sounds of music and good company wafted through the air as a door opened and shut. Malachi slowed to a halt and nestled against the side of the house. The slurred hum of a half-forgotten melody carried on the wind, followed swiftly by the sound of a man relieving himself in the bushes. A zip and a tuck, the man trucked back towards merriment and mead, never spotting the figure all-in-black crouched across the way. Malachi allowed himself a brief sigh of relief before crossing those last few boards between the house and the storefront. 

Kneeling before the door, Malachi fished a few lock picks from his pocket, allowing some to hit the floor as he went to work on the lock. Halfway through his first turn, the pin cracked in his hands. He pulled one from the ground. Playing with it a little more yielded three cylinders before the next pick broke. He grabbed another pick, cursing quietly. This time, as if in mockery of his efforts, the lock opened on one turn. Malachi rose into a half-crouch, collecting his dropped picks, when the sharp light of a torch pricked at the corner of his vision. The door opened with a whine as he slipped through its crack, taking great pains to close it quietly. The dim torchlight filtered across the windows as the guard made his way down the road. Malachi waited, back against the door, struggling to still his anxious breaths. But when no one came pounding on the door, time and anxiety forced him into action. 

The room was dark and cold. What little ambient light pierced the windows was indistinct: not enough to keep him from banging against the furniture and spilling a bowl of ingredients. Eventually, Malachi made it behind the counter and his frantic search began. He grabbed all the bottles within reach, squinting in the dim light to read their labels, but nothing looked familiar. The darkness turned the small writing into blurs, the contents inside sloshing around with no discernable differences. He didn’t have a choice; there wasn’t enough time. Casting one long glance back at the closed door, Malachi called a spell into his palms, the only one the witch had taught him. The room brightened instantly as the little orb came to life, but so too did a number of new dangers. Malachi looked toward the window once again, fear gnawing at the corners of his mind, before he committed himself again to the task. Bottles rolled across the floor as one after another was read and discarded, along with any caution Malachi had harbored of not letting the proprietor know their shop had been ransacked. Elixir of Vigor, Philter of Haggling, Draught of Strength, all _useless_.

Then, voices rang from the outside, far too close for comfort. Malachi clasped the floating magelight in his hands to stifle the light. The magic prickled uncomfortably against his palms but otherwise did no harm. 

"Helgen... destroyed by a dragon. Hard to believe, isn't it?"

“Hard to believe, yes. Sounds like a song someone found at the bottom of their cups, in truth.”

Hard footsteps on the frozen ground; the muted clink of mail. Malachi struggled to end the spell, but couldn’t get his mind around it. His anxiety fueled the magelight, making it glow all the brighter in his panic.

“It was a pretty enough song that Jarl Balgruuf sent a garrison to reinforce Riverwood. From the tales I’ve heard, he doesn’t sound like a man to act solely on the local gossip.”

“Balgruuf sent men to Riverwood because his hold is under threat of invasion on all sides. I would be sending help to my townholds, too, if I feared for their safety.”

The shriek of wood cut through the conversation as the fence protested being used as a bench.

“That may be, but there are other reports as well. Merchants and couriers bring dark tidings from Falkreach and the Pale. There, there be dragons.”

“Local gossip and fear-mongering. I’d bet my wages there’s not a speck of truth in them. Now that the Stormcloaks and Imperials are in a stalemate, the common folk need a new distraction. Dragons is a stretch, I’ll grant you, but it’s still unlikely. Those beasts haven’t been seen in Skyrim for a thousand years or more.”

The spell sputtered and died as Malachi managed to sever the line of magicka; the magelight faded, but not before letting Malachi catch a glimpse of the potion. The one for which this whole adventure had been. Through the window, the image of two guards settling into their watch could just be seen. He had to act.

“Are you not the least bit worried about this, Sigvrek?”

A few steps across the old floor. The bookcase loomed above him.

“What are you, a milk-drinker? Come dragons or Daedra, Forsworn or Falmer we will defend Morthal to the last.”

“Keep your voice down. Those are not words for the dark. Only fools tempt fate.”

Deft fingers plucked the vial from its place, with nary a sound.

The sound came when Malachi stepped back onto one of the discarded potions and unceremoniously fell to the floor in a cascade of glass and alchemical ingredients.

“What was that?” came the voice from outside, followed by the smooth sound of steel being removed from a sheath.

Cursing himself, Malachi got to his feet – checking to make sure the vial had come through unscathed – and hurried to the door, in as much haste as a crouch could give him.

“Probably a dragon, if you listen to the talk.”

“It came from over here,” came the second voice, much louder this time. A dozen scenarios ran through Malachi’s mind: ways to escape, to shake the guards, to get the hell out, but none of them were plausible.

The sound of rustling furs out the window. A shadowy figure crouched by the welcome mat and rose, holding something in his hands. Malachi’s hands shot instinctively to his pack.

“…is that a lock pick?” murmured the other guard. The ringing of steel on steel once more. Malachi made a mad, silent dash for the upstairs. A cursory sweep of the area found it sparsely decorated – with few hiding spaces – and thankfully devoid of people. He crossed the room swiftly and tried the door, only to find it locked, shriveling whatever small hope had risen inside him. Downstairs, the sounds of an unlocked door being opened filtered through the empty air. For half a second, Malachi considered taking out his picks and forcing his escape through the upstairs, but the muffled sound of boots on snow reached his ears, growing louder by the moment. Someone was on the stairwell outside. Someone was coming up the balcony to meet him.

From down below, the guard’s footsteps were loud against the floor; hold guards were not made for missions of stealth. Abandoning the door, Malachi’s eyes flitted around the room, searching for somewhere, anywhere to hide, but there was nothing. Unless he fancied being dragged out from under a table or bed… Desperate, he settled for scaling the pile of crates, settling precariously on a couple of food barrels above the stairwell.

Malachi closed his eyes and focused on calming his breath and listening. The guard below kicked a pile of fallen wares. The violent swish of displaced fabric played as potential hiding places were cleared, the harsh scrape of wood furniture on the ground. Outside, the handle of the door rattled angrily. However, rather than ply his hand at a thief’s trade, the guardsman left it for locked. His footsteps downward sounded against the snow-covered wood just as his fellows’ grew louder approaching the stairwell. Malachi opened his eyes and silently drew the short blade from his belt.

The guard rose up the stairs near-silently, war axe in hand. His head swiveled from side to side like a bloodhound tracking a hunt. The thief held his breath. But the shadows were merciful. The guard passed the stairwell and entered the larger room, beginning his search anew and allowing Malachi to drop silently from his perch. Landing with barely a whisper, the thief crept to the lower level, freedom within his sight. His hand reached for the door handle just as it began to turn. Biting back a yelp of surprise, he sidled against the wall, allowing the door to become a makeshift barrier between himself and the newcomer. 

For one glorious second, balance was achieved: a man of the law and of dishonor in perfect harmony of inaction.

The door closed.

Malachi pounced.

The guardsman had less than a moment to collect himself before the cold steel drew a red line across his throat. Malachi would later recollect how cold the man’s skin was underneath the blade, kissed by the winter winds. But all cold passed away as the wet, hot flow of blood – black, black blood – erupted from underneath his helm. The man staggered once, twice, choking on his own fluids, before collapsing on himself, sword still in hand. Malachi barely spared him a passing glance as he flew through the open door, the sound of the upstairs protestations already echoing through the house.

Outside, the world was a flurry of sound and light; it was almost blinding after so much darkness, but Malachi didn’t have to time to stand around and gawk. He had barely made it past the Jarl’s longhouse before a grief-stricken voice rose out behind him:

“Stop! Thief! _Murderer!_ ”

The criminal ran straight for the south road as the sounds of reinforcements grew behind him, skirting off the road and onto the rocky shoulder once he cleared Morthal’s line of sight. The peaceful night cracked asunder as the pursuit mounted: the sounds of yelling and metal and men filling the empty spaces between the houses. Harsh torchlight lit the scene as a contingent of guards descended on the roadway, each man and woman searching for blood.

“Kartilde, Jergar, search down the road. The rest of you spread out! We’ll find the bastard.”

Slowly, cautiously, Malachi lowered himself from the rocks, foot by foot, bemoaning every fallen pebble and boot scuff his descent garnered, sure that each step would be his last. Thankfully, though, the guards themselves were making too much noise with their war cries and clinking armor to notice that which would give any thief pause. They were warriors, unaccustomed to the finer points of shady behavior. Though Malachi would be lying to say he did not have more than one close call.

After safely descending to the frozen grass, the thief crept into the shadows of the nearest house, wary of the blinking torches far too close for comfort. He followed the buildings of wood and stone until they ended abruptly at the waterfront, much to his dismay. Malachi balked at the water’s edge, torn between doubling back and searching for a kinder route or braving hypothermia; distant voices, growing louder and more agitated by the second, ended his hesitation. With one last check on his sacred potion, he submerged. The lake rose up to meet him, bitterly and unyieldingly cold, as though the water was taking respite from the autumn chill by draining him of warmth. Malachi floundered for an instant as his immune system coped with this radical change before slowly, silently remembering to swim. He did not dare dip his head beneath the surface, though it did not seem to matter. Morthal by moonlight had shifted drastically in the commotion. Guards swarmed the streets, civilians emerged from their houses, some offering their support to the guardsmen, others standing in their doorways with weapons in hand as their children peeked through the frosty windows in search of the villain who had disturbed their peaceful night. But all eyes were on the roadway, where a pack of guards still scoured the rocky path for a sign of their prey. 

As he swam, Malachi caught the image of a prone figure in a sheet being carried from the Thaumaturgist’s Hut. Red and white fabric barely covering the man beneath. After a figurative eternity, Malachi climbed the opposite bank beneath the bridge, chest heaving from the effort. His eyes scanned the horizon as he collected himself. Two men stood at the far end of the bridge, closer to town than the mill. Their backs were to him. Now was his chance. Picking himself gingerly to his feet, ignoring the pronounced shivers beginning to wrack his body, Malachi edged around the bank. Mud sucked at his boots, but every glance toward the passersby confirmed their ignorance. Hope began to prickle in his chest once more, edging out the cold for a moment as he crept toward the nearby bushes. Once past the mill, it was a straight shot to freedom. He would escape. She would be saved.

But the bushes had other designs. 

Malachi merely had to brush the first branch before something inside screamed at the intruder. So high-strung from the chase, Malachi could only scramble away from the sound, falling over himself into the torchlit path. The outraged skeever hissed at him and fled, but the damage was done. Shouts rang from the down the path. Malachi made to run, but something hard and fast hit him squarely between the shoulders. He fell hard on his side, his arm bent at a strange angle beneath him, the rest of his body taut as a bowstring and completely unresponsive. His eyes – one of the few things in control – flicked wildly back and forth, searching for some cause of this lack of motion, some way to fight it and run. Behind him, the sounds of the two men grew louder until they were upon him. A foot prodded roughly at his back; its owner moved closer once the action had gone uncontested.

“By the gods, Falion. What did you do him?” asked the man warily.

“Paralysis spell,” panted the other, a flicker of a green spell still glowing on his palms. “He’ll be frozen for some time, but I would recommend clapping him in irons well before it wears off.”

“You don’t have to tell me twice,” his companion returned darkly. “But…you’ve done a great service for the Hold, Wizard. We will not forget it.” 

Further conversation between the two ceased as guards swarmed their position, chattering angrily and loudly, with more than one obscenity thrown his direction. However, by this point, Malachi had tuned out. It didn’t matter when they clapped his stiff form in irons and paraded him through the city. It didn’t matter that they cursed him, spit on him, called him every terrible name in the books. It didn’t matter when they threw him before the Jarl to receive justice. The interrogation didn’t matter. The beatings didn’t matter. Even when he regained control of his body in a medieval prison cell, that didn’t matter either.

He had failed.


	4. Tick Tick Tick

_20th of Frostfall, 4E 201_

“Cyrodiil's runestones are thought to belong to one of three time periods: the Dawn Era, the Merethic Era, or the late First Era. Those who believe the runestones to be Dawn Era artifacts, created by the Aedra or Daedra, often describe them as Lorkhan's birthing gift to mortals. Others assign the runestones to the Merethic or Early First Era, primarily on the basis of their simple, even crude design and craft. Now…” Drevis Neloran droned on and on at the front of the lecture hall, either unaware or unconcerned that only about a third of the congregation were listening, only a handful of which bothered to take notes. Sadly, the topic of Cyrodilic runestones, far from interesting to start out with, had lost all of its charm in the week succeeding Sarthal’s discovery. There was a sort of stupid valiance in Drevis’ designs, however, in continuing on with the subject, and most of the body of apprentices were content to let their minds wander and allow this long-winded speech on peculiarities halfway around the world to wash over their heads. 

Elijah was one of these, however his thoughts were dedicated to a more depressing line than most of his classmates. He’d been at the College a week, and nothing he’s seen or heard led him to believe he was any closer to achieving his objective than when it was first conceived. True, he’d gained a better understanding of the bare facts: Urag gro-Shub’s hallowed tomes were invariably informative – but the perspective was all wrong for his desired ends. What did it matter if he knew the names, vices, and foul deeds of every Daedra or dremora in the outer realms? That was intelligence he could’ve gotten from any priest or well-read farmer. The worst of it was that the more he read the more he was convinced that these gods held as much water as the forgotten pagan gods of old Earth history. And if that was the case, Elijah and all the rest were truly in dire straits. As he chewed over his faults and misgivings, a familiar face sidled up beside him. 

“You ready for tonight?” Kirby asked, hardly bothering to keep her voice down. Elijah flicked his gaze towards her before returning it to Drevis’ general direction. 

“Not more or less so than any other night.” Kirby punched his arm, abusing both it and his stupidity. 

“Don’t play coy. Daniel said he told you what was up. I just assumed you weren’t a complete stick in the mud and wanted in.” 

“Of course I’m coming. Though I’m still in shock that the scholars let you lot put on something like this.” Kirby snorted, before mastering her features into casual interest when the lecturer looked her way. 

“I’m sure some know about it,” she murmured out of the corner of her mouth, “but all the same don’t go spreading it around. So long as we aren’t too flagrant in our abuse of the vaguely established College rules, the Arch-mage is content to let us do our own thing.” Elijah smirked, and focused his attention on the lecture as his companion slipped away through the crowd. 

“The greatest objection to First Era dating is that the stones are completely unlike any other examples of First Era architecture. I believe,” continued Drevis, breaking character in a rare show of individual thought, “that the runestones date from the Dawn Era or Merethic Age, but they were moved to new sites by late First Era emperors. Since the runestones have lost their enchantments, however, we may never know why they were moved, or what function they served at First Era sites. 

“Mages, if I could keep you all for just a few extra minutes, my colleague Phinis Gestor has some announcements he’d like to make…” continued Drevis, fighting against the swell of conversation from the long-captive apprentices. Some quieted down immediately, but most merely continued their talk as they made for the door. Another mage, a middle-aged Breton with a balding head and a few extra stones of weight around the middle, mounted the platform and raised his voice over the rabble. 

“It is in reference to the artifact found under Saarthal. The so-called Eye of Magnus.” That made an impression. Almost as soon as the words were out of the mage’s mouth, silence fell in the hall, swift as a rock chucked off a mountainside. Every eye fixed on the two teachers eagerly. 

“Well, that was easy,” scoffed Phinis. “If I had known apprentices were so easily cowed, I would’ve dug up that old relic ages ago.” As though you had known about it, thought Elijah coolly. 

“Projects are underway to discern the origin and nature of the College’s recent find in Saarthal. Any and all theories are currently being considered. Those with ideas should please speak with Mirabelle. 

“At this time, there is no indication that, as has been rumored, the object is in fact a physical part of Magnus, the god of magic. It has been suggested that the object is a gateway to the realm of Aetherius,” – Elijah’s ears pricked up – “but nothing has proven that idea one way or the other. It has been proposed that the object is in fact the entirety of Aurbis in one physical space. This would of course mean that Tamriel indeed all of Mundus, is actually contained within the sphere. 

“It further suggests that we are somehow then outside our own existence while looking in at it. While the idea seems dubious at best, it has not, at present, been entirely ruled out. 

“Again, _please_ speak with _Mirabelle_ about your ideas. Drevis and I, though we would undoubtedly be delighted to hear out your every single thought on the subject, have other duties to attend to.” And with that, the teachers quitted the front of the classroom, allowing the apprentices to begin anew everyone’s favorite subject of gossip. The “something” under Saarthal didn’t hold much interest for Elijah, truthfully. Firstly, because he was too green to appreciate what the discovery meant for the magical world; secondly there was too little fact and too much rumor to adequately form an opinion. Plus…with this magic as with all magic, the most important thing to know is how little we actually know. About anything. It had struck him on his first day at wizard school and was no less outstanding all the days afterward how little stock the mages put into their own store of knowledge. From the runestones of Cyrodill to the giant orb obstructing the Hall of the Elements. Every fact was controvertible, every spell had a flavor of the unknown, every opinion or belief entirely possible even if it strained against the very fabric of logic and reasoning. Such was the way with magic, and Elijah couldn’t decide whether he should be diverted or disheartened by the double-talk. 

The courtyard was a few degrees warmer than usual, so, naturally, half college turned up to enjoy the slight reprieve from the elements. Some mages had carried out books and parchment for further study, but most seemed content to enjoy the sun and chat amongst themselves. Luckily for Elijah, a quick survey of the area granted him a view of his quarry, and he wandered over to the great archway leading out to Winterhold where Daniel and Holly had settled. 

"Morning," he called as he approached. Holly smiled her greeting, while Daniel returned the solicitude, before the groups settled back into looking out over the landscape. Say what you would about Skyrim, it was beautiful in its own harsh, unforgiving way. To the south, tall mountains loomed over a scarred little hold, checkered black and white with snow, jutting from the earth as though they had been thrown there from the sea: great spears of rock and ice. And to the north, the great field of the ocean spread out and forward for what seemed forever, broken only by glaciers and islands made entirely of ice. These crystalline structured glistened and wept in the sun, spires of blue and white, as wild as winter, more ornate than any structure made by man. Elijah wondered why more people didn't come and enjoy the view. 

"How was lecture?" asked Daniel after a time. 

"Much as how you would expect. Didn't you go?" 

"Ha! Not likely." 

"Daniel doesn't like to attend Lecture unless Tolfdir is speaking," said Holly. 

"He's the only teacher worth anything," he stated matter-of-factly. 

"Tolfdir? Is that the Alteration mage? I haven't met him yet." 

"Yes, him, but it’s a bit insulting to refer to him solely as an Alteration mage. He's much more proficient a mage than that. I'd wager there isn't a school of magic which Tolfdir hasn't a good grasp of." 

"Except Necromancy," said Holly. 

"Don't underestimate him," warned Daniel. "Who knows with these old mages? Even if he doesn't practice nowadays, I've always heard about the 'follies of youth.' Mages don't live as long as Tolfdir without getting their hands dirty somewhere." 

"Necromancy?" asked Elijah. "So even that is possible...and not off-limits at the College?" 

"Of course it's possible. Haven't you seen a Draugr yet?" Daniel scoffed. "Yes, necromancy, and almost every dirty little piece of magic you were warned against as a child. But Skyrim still attaches a pretty hefty stigma to the practice. If mages experiment with it at all here, they do so in secret, in the Midden." 

"I can understand the stigma," said Elijah. "Raising people from the dead? That's just...unnatural." 

"Such is magic," countered Daniel. "Whether it's shooting a fireball from the palm of your hand or raising a corpse, the effect is still not within the realm of possibility. At least, it wasn't back home. Though now I wonder if there weren't people like that...who had the good sense to keep to themselves." 

"I'm not sure I like thinking about that," piped Holly. "If there were people like that, they would be a real danger. Both to themselves and everyone else." 

"Right," said Elijah. "It's not like in Skyrim where everyone comes out of the cradle holding a dagger." Daniel chuckled. 

"Perhaps, but it's something to think about, all the same. We have so many ancient stories about people doing mystical things, similar to what we're learning here. Perhaps our variety of humans simply...forgot." 

"Let them forget," warned Holly. “It’s…bad enough we’re learning it here.” 

An awkward silence fell over the little gathering, and they wisely went back to studying the landscape before the delicate subject could gain more ground. 

"What...who is that?" Daniel muttered, squinting at something in the distance. 

"Hmm?" said Holly. "Did you say something?" Elijah, too, turned his gaze in line with Daniel's, past the long bridge to the College and into Winterhold proper. In the distance, two people could be seen coming up the town road - mages, by the swing of their garments - but far too close together. As they approached, the Hold guards descended upon them, and several townsfolk too, ushering them into the nearest inn. One of the crowd broke off and came running. Running towards the College. 

"Something's wrong. Elijah, go...no, you're too new. Holly, run and get Colette Marence." He took off down the bridge, without another word. Elijah and Holly exchanged glances, and Holly, sensing the danger, took off quickly into the courtyard, causing more than one student to glance back at where she left. Elijah stood there dumbly for a few seconds, allowing the rubber-neckers to charge him with some wrongdoing that resulted of Holly's sudden departure, before running after Daniel. 

He arrived at the watch tower where Faralda made her inspection of potential apprentices just as the small sentry was finishing her report. "-other guard said it could’ve been bandits, but no one knows how they made it so far. Please, Ms. Faralda, you have to help them." 

"Of course we will, child," soothed Faralda. "Even if they weren't a part of our College, we have a duty to the Hold at times like this." Here gaze flicked between the Daniel and the newer unwanted listener. 

"Daniel, alert the-" 

"Already done, Faralda," he continued smoothly. "And my friend is a Restoration mage. He should go and help immediately, in case Colette is delayed for some reason." 

"Daniel-" began Elijah. 

"I see your point," interrupted Faralda as she looked over Elijah with more interest than disdain this time. 

"Come with me, apprentice. Daniel, wait here and make the report to whoever the College sends." 

"But shouldn't I-" 

"This is not up for discussion," she returned, icily, cutting off further objections from both mages. "Take us to them, Eirid." The frightened little girl nodded dumbly and made for the town with two mages on her heels. Elijah didn't look back at Daniel, but he could feel his eyes glaring a hole into the back of their heads all the way to the door of Winterhold's inn - the Frozen Hearth. The inside was packed, moreso than Elijah had seen before, as patrons and curious onlookers alike moved around the room, searching for mead and good gossip. Immediately, the little girl ran into the arms of a woman. 

"Mamma!" 

"Eirid. You did well, dear." The innkeeper turned her attention to the mages, mouth curling slightly. 

"They're in the side room. If you'll come with me." Extricating herself from her daughter's embrace, the woman waded through the crowded room, opened a room door on the left wall, and urged them inside, closing the door roughly behind her to protect from peering eyes. The room was small and homely, much like every other inn in Skyrim, but it was the two mages who held everyone's gazes. One kneeled on the ground, brightening the room with a flickering healing spell. The other - a Dark Elf girl - was reclined on the bed, laboring for every breath. There were a number of hastily healed blade wounds peeking through her robes, faded red after the first bout of healing had sealed them, but the true horror was that the right half of her body was all but charred meat, a grisly portrait of black and dark red against the soiled mage robes. 

Elijah stopped midway into the room as the horror of the scene sunk in; Faralda had no such inhibitions. 

"Enough of that, girl, save your magicka. Hagan, take her out of here. Put her in the adjacent room and give her food. The College will oblige you afterwards." 

"No, I need to stay. I have to help her," the girl muttered. Her hands rose towards the body, but Faralda intercepted them and helped haul the mage to her feet. 

"Elijah, get to work," she ordered stiffly, as she dragged the mage towards the door. The girl looked as though she wanted to fight, but whatever adventure she and her companion had undergone had taken its toll. And the girl herself was not without injuries. 

Elijah took a deep breath to steady himself and approached the mage, slowly at first, quicker when he realized the necessity of his part. Magicka plucked at his chest, uneasy to be drawn, before forming into a rough golden ball. Placing his hands on the body, he focused the energy outwards and began mending the flesh. The light was his guide, burrowing into the flesh of this poor mage, but the wound was deep, deep, deep, heat penetrating muscle and bone. Elijah shuddered as the energy passed out of him. His will held, though, and the spell continued to burn.*** Beneath him, the girl moaned suddenly and moved her uninjured arm, gripping at the sheets as the terror of consciousness set in. 

"Hello? Are you awake? Please...you have stay with us." Her eye - the one that could open - roamed around the room without seeing, leaking tears. But this distraction had allowed Elijah's magic to wane, and it was all put candle giving her comfort now. Cursing himself, Elijah set back to his task. 

It seemed a very long time that he held his position, slowly draining the magicka from his body, changing it into something else. Something good and pure, with the power mend. At one time, he thought Faralda might have come back into the room, perhaps said something to him. He didn't know. All that mattered was his magic and the work. Slowly but surely, the patient began to exhibit signs of improvement. Her breathing slowed and deepened into something resembling repose, her heart grew stronger where before it had been flighty and inconsistent. Her skin remained dark, moreso than before, but underneath the flesh began to heal, the bones mended, grew white, and covered their nakedness as the gilded light washed over them, but there was just so much… 

Finally, he felt a strong arm on his shoulder, rousing him. The spell faltered as he looked up into the kindly face of another mage, one he did not recognize. 

"You've done well, apprentice," he said. "Let Colette take it from here." As if on cue, a Breton woman with a pinched face pushed passed him and knelt behind the elf, taking up where he left off with the steadied hands of a practiced physician. Elijah made to stand, selfishly grateful for the reprieve, but only managed to make it halfway up before the ground rose up to meet him. Helpful hands rushed to his aid, however, and he was spared the fall as they escorted him from the room. Elijah hadn't realized how much magicka he had used up. Had they not stopped him, he might soon have been in real danger. 

Everything afterwards – the faces, the words, the location – were all a bit fuzzy as he drifted in a sort of dreamlike haze. It was akin to the tiredness you get after a long workout, minus of lactic acid building up in the muscles. The shaky limbs and slight high were the same, but overall it felt more like the vitality – not energy – had been drained out of him. Like he had grown ten years older in the twenty, thirty minutes of careful healing. 

A hand shook him from this semi-conscious state, and he looked toward the interloper with more than a touch of irritation, though he was too tired to give them the full benefit of his distaste. A somewhat familiar faced stared back at him, tugging on the edges of his memory. “Here, drink this,” she said, thrusting a glass container into his hands – a potion, his dimmed mind told him. Elijah nodded faintly and raised the draught to his lips. Though his hand shook quite persistently, he was able to down it without incident, earning a weak smile from his companion. 

“Tolfdir said…I can’t thank you enough. For helping Brelyna.” She stared down at her own hands, sore and red from too many castings. Elijah grasped at the table and propped himself into a more alert position. 

“That’s what Restoration is for,” he said heavily, his anxiety weighing on his mind as well as his tongue. The girl raised her eyes to study him briefly before returning to her inspection of her hands. 

“Shouldn’t you be resting?” he added. Though she seemed coherent enough, she also looked as terrible as he felt. She raked a hand through her black hair and smiled wryly. 

“So they tell me,” she returned, “but I won’t sleep until she’s stable. Nor will I take any of their potions.” The smile grew bitter. “Their scruples won’t stop them from lacing anything they give me with a sleeping draught.” Elijah could neither deny respect for their logic or his support of their views – the girl looked like she, herself, was one stiff breeze away from collapse – however, they, the both of them, were unwilling to waste energy on arguments in that vein. 

For lack of a better diversion, Elijah palmed the empty potion bottle between his hands, watching the last blue drops make lazy circles around its insides. He was still admittedly drained, but mana potions did wonders for the body and mind. Were it not for his sense of reason, Elijah might have been persuaded that he was perfectly fine. 

“What is your name?” Elijah’s head turned towards the girl. 

“Elijah.” 

“Elijah of…?” 

“Just Elijah.” 

“Ah,” she replied sympathetically. Silence fell, and seemed it would take up its reign indefinitely, so Elijah responded: 

“And you?” She laughed slightly, a low sound without real humor. 

“Can she have let you into her schemes without even telling you who I am?” On seeing his confusion, her features settled back into quiet gravity. 

“We’ve met before, though I believe you were just arrived at the College. Outside the Arcaeneum.” Recognition sparked. 

“You’re the one who discovered the Eye of Magnus!” 

“Is that what they’re calling, now?” she scoffed. “How pretentious. But, yes, I am that one.” 

“Li-Mei,” he recalled. 

“The one and only.” 

Awkward silence again. 

“So…obviously I’m a Restoration mage. What are you?” asked Elijah. 

“A little bit of everything,” she replied vaguely, “but I’ve got a knack for Conjuration.” 

“Summoning creatures from the planes of Oblivion?” 

“You could say that. Why, do you have an interest in Conjuration?” 

“No, not really. But the different planes besides Nirn…those I’m interested in.” Her eyes shifted towards him. He thought she might have said something then, but seemed to think better of it. Curious. 

“…you really should get some rest,” he said, like the pot calling kettle he was. She shot him a withering glare, but didn’t deign to respond. 

“Okay, since you won’t follow sound advice, can you tell me…what happened to Brelyna? Before the College, I assisted Healers in the Temple of Kynareth, but I’ve never seen anything like it before.” Li-Mei grew quiet, such that Elijah thought she might have fallen asleep. Then: 

“I don’t…I can’t talk about it right now.” She cleared her throat and looked away. “Please don’t ask any more.” She got up and shuffled towards the bed, whether from giving into exhaustion or just to distance himself from further questions, he didn’t know, and sat down, back against the wall. In a few moments, he heard her begin to snore lightly. That was good. 

They stayed like that for some time. Elijah hadn’t realized he had dozed off until a rough hand jostled him back into consciousness. He swatted at the newcomer weakly, bleary eyes scarcely up to the task of identification. 

“What?” he groaned. 

“Happy to see you, too,” replied Daniel. “Faralda sent me to take you both back to the College if you’re able.” 

“How’s Brelyna?” Li-Mei asked, getting to her feet through sheer willpower, it seemed. Daniel betrayed a spark of surprise on seeing her, but masked it well enough to respond in time: 

“So it was Brelyna…they haven’t told us anything, but I didn’t see any priests or pallbearers on my way here. That’s something, right?” 

“I’m not – ” she began, only to be interrupted by Daniel’s long-suffering sigh. 

“As much as I’m interested in hearing you explain how you’re not one step behind Brelyna on death’s doorway, I’m afraid that’s not going to cut it. We’re already a nuisance to the innkeepers with one mage staying the night.” 

“I’ll stay in Brelyna’s room. I won’t be a bother.” 

“It’s not about that, and you know it. Just come peacefully. Please?” Li-Mei chewed on her lower lip and surveyed the room, but wisely foresaw that she wasn’t in a condition to fight the two mages in this room or the teachers in the next. She took Elijah’s hand when he offered it, and together the three of them managed to clear the crowded inn and make into to Skyrim’s refreshing outdoors. 

Li-Mei cast a glance towards the horizon, scanning it briefly, before committing herself to the walk. They were a strange little entourage: two weak mages and one strong trying to finagle a path together in the snow. Li-Mei leaned heavily against her escorts, though Elijah wasn’t in any shape to offer much support. The guards stared as the small group went past. No one came forward to assist them. “Almost there,” Elijah said once they had reached the great archway to the bridge. Li-Mei didn’t respond, her quick breaths absorbing much of her concentration. 

“Do you want to stop?” Daniel asked coolly. He was still pissed at being left out of the loop. She shook her head quickly and began mounting the stairs, her breathing becoming more labored with each step. Elijah felt more than saw Daniel roll his eyes, and shot him a look. 

Then, she froze. 

“What is it? Are we stopping?” drawled Daniel. 

Her head swiveled back to the horizon, eyes frantically searching for something. 

“Li-Mei? What is it?” prodded Elijah. Her hands tightened around his robes. 

“We need to go. Now.” 

“What – ” began Elijah. Then came the sound. A great and terrible roar, echoing against the mountain in a clamor of voices. Just like before. Cold fear washed over him, calling the hairs on the back of his head to attention; dread curled in his stomach like a horrible serpent. His own weakness mocked him as his body shut down under the pressure of drained magicka and terrible realization. Worst of all, every inch of his reaction was reflected in Li-Mei's eyes as they shared the horror of the situation. Daniel fixed his eyes to the distance as well, brow furrowed, and Elijah envied his ignorance. 

From the rocky peaks, a great form descended upon them from above, all teeth and scales and terror. It’s battle cry sounded again, followed by a swath of fire raining down on the crushed remains of Winterhold. 

“Not again,” whispered Li-Mei, her face white as snow. 

“We’re all going to die.” 


End file.
